Chapter Text
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“If I close my eyes forever… Will it all remain unchanged?”
He didn’t feel his body for a moment. Then he was wide awake, and the harrowing sensations of his injuries all attacked his brain cells. He fell from the upper level to a pile of bricks, and according to his inability to breathe, he died… Or did he? He saw a small figure leaning over him, pale, with the same blue eyes and auburn hair he had, small hand reaching out to touch his face. “Close your eyes for me… Come with me, John.” Not yet. He fought himself to his side, his legs not obeying. He couldn’t move his lower body, so he dragged himself away from the pile, which was painted red by his blood. He tried to get away from the ghost of his brother, and from Cabbage boy, whose footsteps he could hear approaching.
Abe rushed over to the edge of the railing, and looked down, seeing Simcoe writhing in agony. He ran to the stairs, but when he reached the ground floor and the brick pile, the Ranger was gone. Only a trail of blood indicated his direction. Abe picked up Simcoe’s .45 from the floor, and followed him. Sirens howled into the night, closing to the abandoned warehouse. The blood led Abraham to a wall, with Simcoe leaning against it, whimpering and still bleeding all over. He was clearly on the brink of death. His legs were in a weird angle… His whole lower body was in a weird angle. He’ll probably never sit on a bike again, if he’s lucky enough to be able to walk… Or if he’s lucky enough to live. “I hope it hurts like hell, you bastard.” Abe thought and raised his gun to finish the job. Yet… If he would just shoot Simcoe in the head, would he be any different than he is? Those blue eyes looked into his, begging for it. Abraham hesitated. He could hear the sirens. He heard the pained groaning of his victim, and saw the blood he coughed. He wasn’t a monster. The .45 ended up on the ground, and Abe picked up his phone, and called the ambulance. Then he left without even glancing at Simcoe.
“If I close my eyes forever, will it all remain the same?”
…
Hewlett was unsure why he was there at the hospital. He was supposed to be on his way to the airport, going home to his beloved wife and studies. Yet he was there, staring at the door, that led to the sickbed of the man he hated and yet still cared for in a weird way. First, he thought he’ll just help good ‘ole John pass to the other side, but when he entered the room, he changed his mind. Simcoe was just a shadow of himself, a wreck, still clinging to life. His hair overgrown, a few days without shaving left a nice amount of stubble on his face, and his eyes… Those cold, ice blue eyes were staring at the ceiling, hopelessly waiting for a cosmic force to end his suffering. Hewlett remembered the words he read on Simcoe’s medical report. His legs and his pelvic bone were broken, and he had an ungodly amount of luck to have his spine and skull intact from that fall into a pile of bricks from the upper story of a warehouse. Some of his ribs were also broken, and that; along with the bullet he took to his lungs, caused several internal injuries and internal bleeding. Yet the man survived somehow. He stopped next to Simcoe, who was breathing heavily, and slowly turned his head towards him. His face was still the usual expressionless mask. Or – Hewlett thought – he was drugged out of his mind. “It’s you again.” Simcoe managed to whisper. “What are you doing here, Major Oyster?” Hewlett sat down on the single chair next to the hospital bed. “I came here to end you, John. But I changed my mind.” “Why? Why let go of your only chance to kill the monster everyone fears?” Simcoe’s voice was low and without its usual trill. He sounded bitter. “As a matter of fact, I still want to kill you to some degree, but I know that there are punishments worse than death. And that our feud belongs in the past. The war is over, John.” Hewlett said patiently. Simcoe let out a short, jaded laugh. “Over? It never ends. It will always be with us, wherever we go.” Hewlett nodded. “True. But we must strive to use its memory to rebuild what was torn down. To avoid repeating the mistakes.” Simcoe frowned and slowly shook his head. “I’m having a headache, and you’re only making it worse.” “Well, I can say, after seeing you being mean and sarcastic, that you’re healing.” Hewlett smiled. Simcoe blinked. “If I promise that I’ll miss you, will you leave?” he asked. “I’m not done with you yet.” Hewlett answered. “Oh, dear…” Simcoe groaned. “Just leave me to suffer here, will ya? No more of your lectures about humanity and all that shit.” Hewlett was silent for a moment, but then he sighed and said “They will come to arrest you anyway, you know?” Simcoe wanted to shrug, but his body didn’t move, so he just turned his head away from Hewlett. “What do you care, Ed?” he asked. “More importantly, why do you care?” “For all the despicable and messed-up things you had done in your entire life; I have to admit that there was one trait of you that I always found admirable.” Edmund answered. Simcoe’s face was occupied by his usual archaic smile. “You’re flattering me, Eddie.” “It was your quick wits. Sure, you’re prone to jump to the wrong conclusion, but still, you managed to pull a trick or two when it was needed.” Hewlett continued to speak without acknowledging what Simcoe inserted. The injured redhead’s eyes tightened. “What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m trying to help you get away from prison.” came the answer. Simcoe tried to laugh, but it turned out to resemble a mix between coughing and gasping for air. “You pretended to be insane once, to get away.” Hewlett said seriously. “Why not do it again?” Simcoe stopped his attempt at laughing. “To be thrown into the looney bin? No, thank you.” “You need treatment, and not punishment. I…ah… I came a long way to accept that.” Hewlett added, and was convinced about what he said. Simcoe smiled smugly, and looked back at him. “I know what you’re up to, Oyster!” he squeaked. “You’re deliberately torturing me from your high horse of morality. That, or you’re trying to murder me by boring me to death.” he shook his head. “From all the men I’ve forged from weaklings to warriors, you may have been my greatest creation.” Hewlett rolled his eyes. “Shut it Simcoe, or I swear I’ll gag you with that apple on the nightstand.” “What is that with your obsession to put things in my mouth? Is that a Freudian thing?” Simcoe asked mockingly. Hewlett stood up. “Choose the looney bin!” he said. “I’m not weak, like you. I won’t run and hide, or pretend to be something I’m not.” Simcoe hissed. “I’ll face whatever comes my way.” Hewlett nodded. “So be it. You dug your own grave, John. If you’re so determined to lay in it, who am I to stop you?”